


A helping hand

by Stoeipoes



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Grinding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 05:52:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3639168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stoeipoes/pseuds/Stoeipoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen's been ported to Kirkwall not too long ago and finding yourself in need of a shave while being aware that your hands are too shaky to do it properly, the privacy of a late night shave sounds promising. Samson proves not to sleep too well with someone cursing by your bedside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Finding out was an accident.

Cullen was a young, nervous and most of all angry recruit when he joined the Templars in Kirkwall. Some saw wonder he was even still allowed to do as he did - others saw it a benefit.

Samson was not one of the ones initially excited for his stay.

When Cullen spoke of mages or even saw flashes of too familiar, he became blinded by a seething rage. The slightest word of sympathy to the former was met by a punch in the face and Samson was always one to reciprocate.

Finding out the kids’ history made him thaw just enough that he wouldn’t punch him while still wearing a metal glove. At least, until he found out about that, but that’s for another time.

Cullen’s hands shook significantly whenever he tried to shave himself. He swore during it, something he’d never heard him do during other activities. Sharing quarters with him made it easy to hear. Sometimes they shook worse than others, and when it was the crack of dawn and a blonde ass was swearing by your bedside, it got irritating.

"C’mere, you shit," Samson’d gruffly voiced, still slurred with remnants of sleep as he crawled from his bed, pushed Cullen back to sit on his own - luckily bright enough to remove the blade from his throat when Samson’d shifted.

"I’m doing fine.” Cullen’s insistence was argued by the spill of blood leaking down his jaw. He was irritated, without a doubt. He was always irritated. Lack of sleep, Samson’d argue. If he didn’t have a valid excuse he’d have smothered him and checked later to see if he’d passed out or died.

He didn’t have room to argue as Samson pulled his head back by the curls, grunt cut short in his throat when it contracted from the angle. Without a word, Samson crowed over him and brought the blade to his neck.

Cullen swallowed.

The first slice of knife on sudded skin was… interesting, to say the least. He felt incredibly vulnerable with a sharp knife so close to the veins of his neck, The prickles of sharp steel moving through coarse hairs almost gave rise to goosebumps. He could feel Samson’s even breathing on his neck. His own was slightly rushed, the back of his head stinging almost like a buzz with his hairs pulled tight, the threat of having to hold still or risk a deep cut incredibly enticing.

… Enticing, Cullen, really? Furrowing his brows as he chastised himself, he-

He moaned. When the blade was lifted off shortly and hit his skin again only to slice cleanly up, he actually made a noise akin to a notion of pleasure. Cullen’s breath stopped.

As did Samsons’, for a moment.

"You’re gonna cut straight through those lips of yours if you respond like this jus’ to a shave,” Samson murmurred, withdrawing the blade to clean it. His hair finally being released let Cullen lower his head, raising a hand to scratch at the tingling departed fingers left.

Samson didn’t leave him for long. Long fingers curled around his jaw, twisted his head around forcibly, and Samson leaned in close again, finding the lowest edge of hair to scrape the edge of his knife across and Cullen swore he saw red, the push to his throat of stray fingers, the ache of his neck of being pulled too far, his jaw angled uncomfortably and life hanging in Samson’s fingers, a simple slip enough to cause blood to go spilling and mix in with lather, maybe worse, maybe.

The older of the two had held Cullen in one position as tight as possible to prevent trembling. He didn’t expect to hear a breathy, whispered, ‘harder’. The blonde had no idea what was going on - he just knew he really liked the grind of sharp metal, the dig of fingers, the way his trachea was forced to contract by the twist of his head.

Samson was just amused.

Here he was, pretty boy Cullen with the violent tendencies proving he liked to be in a situation with a knife at his neck and fingers leaving bruises on his flesh. Probably liked worse, too. The ever increasing pattern of his breath and his heartbeat thrumming against Samson’s fingertips was definitely appealing, and Samson found himself shifting closer, pressing his front to Cullen’s broad back.

“Stay quiet. Still got a lotta flesh to cover.”

The deal just got a lot more intimate for Cullen, who pitched a groan between rapid breaths. Samson removed his fingers from Cullen’s face, spread the lather more evenly where his fingers had left and returned his hand to the back of blonde curls, pulling them back tight. The blade ground over his skin again - skillfully ridding him of dense, too long hairs, not caring if they had to pass over skin that Cullen had injured himself. Samson’s face was inches away from his’, and when the dark-haired man darted out his tongue to wet thin lips, Cullen had to bite his own.

Feeling careful slices along his adams apple, following the cleft of his chin and the angles of his jaw, Samson roughly twisting his head around by the hair as he reached for the best spots was making him squeeze together his knees. He was fully aware Samson was focussing more on the fingers twisted tightly in his hair, pulling, manipulating, wrenching sharp breaths past his lips. Samson rocked his hips in, just once, when the latter got distracted to the point the younger released a hiss as the blade cut straight into his skin. Samson was as aroused as he was. In fact, he dared bet the other was aroused because Cullen was being aroused by the olders’ actions.

A firm slap on the cheek alerted Cullen that the ordeal was over.

“Righ’. Smooth as a baby’s ass again. Y’can go back to bed and get some rest now, we’re not up until in a few,” Samson rasped in his ear. For a second, Cullen panicked as Samson departed from his back, and a flush of blood rushed to his face.

Was he leaving, just like that? Really?

He watched in silence as the older unceremoniously dumped the others’ blade and cloth, hoisted himself back into his own bed and curled on his side to stare at Cullen, a look of smug satisfaction on his face. The latter of which was still in the entirely wrong part of his mind to process Samson leaving.

Cullen wasn’t having it. Judging by the way the satisfaction dripped off Samson’s face, the latter hadn’t expected him to follow suit under a set of single-person sheets.


	2. Chapter 2

“What are-”

Samson’s protests died in Cullen’s mouth. Before he could fully get offended, the younger Templar had settled himself on top of the other, kiss sloppy, virginal, mostly fueled by the hard cock that Samson found nestled against his hip bone.

Cullen didn’t quite get what the whole deal was, himself. He was eager, he was beyond excited, wanted to feel coarse hands curl into his hair, around his cock, feel blunt nails scratch down his back. The warmth of Samson’s body was inviting, even in the sweltering heat of Kirkwall. His mouth tasted of sleep and last nights’ disgusting broth and he still found it dreadfully enticing.

He’d expected a blow to the head. Not for Samson to lean up, not for him to answer his clumsiness with more experienced lips. Samsons’ broad tongue swept between his lips, mouth parting wider to swallow Cullen’s under them. The younger man’s brows furrowed downward - he couldn’t stop a needy groan spilling, muffled by a mouth. When Samsons’ hands moved up, brushed the fabric of his pajama bottoms and curled tight into plush buttocks, the blonde couldn’t help respond with the heavy roll of his hips. Friction, however mild it was, made his eyes roll back in his head, and he was glad he’d closed them. Feeling Samson’s hips push up to meet him, outline of a more prominent cock pressing into the soft flesh of his thigh, just helped fuel his enthusiasm.

One of Cullen’s hands rose, curled against Samsons’ jaw, teeth grazed foreign tongue in excitement and wedged a short grunt from the older. The other dipped south, palm grinding down over shirt buttons, meeting his lower belly, fingers curling tight around-

“Off.”

Samsons’ voice was more gravelly than normal. With their close proximity, he could easily feel what Cullen was doing. There was a heavy hesitance in Cullen’s hand, his blood boiling with the need for relief where his body was aching so, but none the less, fingers withdrew. The hands on his rear shifted, as well. They moved their way under the waistband of his trousers, hot fingers skirting thick flesh. Nails embed into his skin as Samson squeezed his arse tight, and the older man shifted under him, repositioned, kept Cullen in place as he aligned their swollen lengths.

A simple roll up, their flesh grinding together in unison through rough cotton, was enough for Cullen to need to bite his bottom lip to keep from crying out. It was intimate - Andraste’s tits it was intimate, much more so than his hand curling tight around his prick in a corner of the library, spit slick and mind focussed on the pretty girl with lush lips and forbidden sin. Seeing Cullen’s expression through the dim light of a dying candle caused for a smug grin to break on Samsons’ face, and he rolled up again, using his hands on a plump ass for leverage.

The blonde was starting to rock back. The more Samson burrowed his fingers into soft tissue, he found, the more eager his thrusts became. Between cotton prisons, tight, hot flesh and the slip and grind of a cock just as eager as their own, Cullen’s mind was reeling, and the pain that should’ve distracted was just encouraging him. Teeth sank into Samsons’ skin at the crook of his neck, sharp hiss neglected in the warmth of sin that swallowed the younger Templar. His breath rasped against pale, humid skin. He knew he couldn’t make much noise - not more than the complainant wood that rasped and creaked slightly under their combined, mobile weight, not with six other men sharing the room with them, hopefully sound asleep as he couldn’t bare the thought of facing them in the morning if they knew, already knowing his face would grow hot at just the sight of Samson-

It was the impending shame that tipped Cullen over the edge. A heavily muted, low grunt caught in his throat, hips pushed in heavily and slowly slipping, sliding as semen met the inside of his trousers, his breathing stopped as pleasure washed red hot through his system and he couldn’t stop, not until the last wave was drained out of him, even if Samsons’ fingers threatened to snap from trying to non-verbally tell him to stop biting down and drawing blood from his neck.

When Cullen’s jaw finally unclenched and his body started to relax, Samson used momentum to force a single hand between them both, slip down his bottoms and curl tight around his stiff prick, stroking himself further to completion with the help of sweat and eager liquid that’d stained both their pants, the hand still on Cullen’s rump daring a quest between full cheeks to brush firmly over the man’s exit, blonde too complacent to express much more than heavy breaths. Threatening to breach the bastards’ body, combined with knowledge that it was unlikely Cullen wouldn’t come running for him again, drew the muscles in Samsons’ stomach tight, and he tipped back his head, nostrils flared. Before long, he spilled himself on his stomach, trying to keep his trousers away from taking the brunt of the damage with a wrist that had to try and keep Cullen’s weight up, too.

Lax lips that sought out his were met but briefly. Before long, a dusty haze would fill Samson’s mind, buzz no longer sweltering out the real world. The raven-haired man’s teeth were sharp against Cullen’s lips and preceded a hand that roughly shoved him off the bed before any of it could turn into any post-coitus cuddling, Samsons’ breath still rushed and heavy, pupils dilated as he stared at Cullen in the dim light of candles.

“It’s sweltering enough without your sweaty ass on me,” he rasped, barely over a whisper, almost too soft for the blonde to hear as he tried to gather himself from the floor his sluggish mind registered too late. “Fuck off until you need another shave.”

Cullen’d shake him awake the next time around, too.


End file.
